“‘But oh that God would inspire them, that at some time they might return unto Him! They have murdered the brothers of the Lord. But let them repent and release the baptized women whom they have already taken captive, that so they may be worthy to live to God, and be made whole here and for eternity.’” Then with the invocation of the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, the voice of Patrick’s ambassador ceased. An angry murmur rose in the cave, and then there were mocking cries, and spears were pointed at the priest. No captives were allowed to be seen, and at last he turned sorrowfully away. But the message had reached three hearts that were in sore need of it. “Patrick cares for us! he calls us his brothers and sisters. He is our shepherd, our brother, our father!” said Ethne. “Patrick also was once a captive and a slave!” murmured Baithene. “And Patrick,” Ethne replied, “has lived to serve and to liberate those who enslaved him, and to be their saviour and friend, like his Lord.” And before the sun of that Sunday night had set, their friend the sailor Dewi contrived to get near them, as they strayed with the deer-hound along the little inner cove, now reduced by the high tide to a narrow strip of sand. “The voice of Patrick has reached one at least of those it was meant to reach,” Dewi said, in a low, tremulous voice. “One of us at least repents at last. Never again will Dewi help to rob and murder the brothers and sisters of Patrick, and of our Lord Christ. Children,” he concluded, “what can I do for you?” “What can any one do for us?” said Baithene, despondingly. But Ethne took the sailor’s rough hands and clasped them in her own. “You can do this for us,” she said, “the best service any can render us now. Go back to Ireland and tell our people, tell Patrick the bishop, we are alive! And find our father, Conan, chief of the O’Neills, and our mother, if they are still alive, and tell them about us.” “I will try, lady,” he said. “If I fail, you will know it was not for want of trying. But the country of your kindred is, and ought to be, as a den of lions for any of our band.” “I know!” she said. “But I know you would like to have something hard and dangerous to do for us.” “You know the truth,” said Dewi, with quivering lips. “And if I can, I will come back and hunt you out again, and bring news of your own to you.” “We shall be lonelier and more friendless than ever when you are gone,” Ethne said. “They do not want me any further,” Dewi said. “Just now I heard them say they have other Irish captives in other vessels further south, who are to be joined to-morrow. And they have hired new sailors who know this coast. For it is a perilous coast, beset by rocks and shoals and narrow channels between islands full, they say, of savage people.” “Where are they taking us?” Baithene asked. “To Gaul, I believe. There are men of our race there who speak our language.” “And then?”